


His Damn Hair

by babybluecas



Series: and so you fell [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Haircuts, M/M, MOL Bunker, Pre-Slash, UST, fallen!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:10:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1557896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybluecas/pseuds/babybluecas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The level of Dean's distress increases in direct proportion to the length of Cas’s hair and he's sure gonna do something about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Damn Hair

Sometimes Dean feels like the whole world is against him. And sure, most of the time it is; what with the demons and angels and their apocalypses. But when it’s not, there are still those two idiots who live with him, and their shaggy hair. He’s given up on Sam a long, long time ago when he realized Sam’s a lost cause. But for Cas, he reckons, there might still be hope.

It begins a few months after the Fall. At first, Dean’s sure that, lost in the pileup of previously unimportant stuff on Cas’s plate, something as trivial as a haircut didn’t even occur to the beginner human. Later Dean starts to wonder if he should give him a nudge in the right direction, in case the guy doesn’t figure it out by himself. Eventually, he decides to mention it completely casually over the supper.

“Are you gonna cut your hair?” he asks as soon as Sam leaves the room, for the lil’ bro could try to stand up in Cas’s defense. There’s probably something like long-haired dudes code and Dean doesn’t want to become the public enemy number one.

“No,” is all Cas says, without even raising his eyes from the box of noodles.

Slightly surprised at the quick answer, Dean leaves it at that then, but he doesn’t give up. The level of his distress increases in direct proportion to the length of Cas’s hair. And he knows it shouldn’t be such a problem for him, he really does. But there’s something about those dark, wavy locks and the way they start falling on Cas’s forehead, that just won’t let him be. Soon Dean gets the slightest bit obsessed with the curls behind his ears and with the fingers playing with them absentmindedly.

It doesn’t take Dean long to realize that when he starts teasing Cas about his mane – which, of course, he does – it’s for a completely different reason than when he teases Sam. More and more often he finds himself staring at it, fascinated, with his own fingers itching to stroke it. Each stray strand keeps him fighting the urge to reach and fix it. And when, sometimes, Cas passes him on his way from the bedroom to bathroom, straight from bed, with this terrible, beautiful mess on his head; well, Dean’s only lucky if the pants he’s wearing are loose enough.

So maybe it’s some twisted, petty version of destroy the thing you love. Maybe he’s looking for an excuse to touch it. Mostly he just wants his cock’s frustration to end. That’s why he really hopes that the day when any of his _Are you racing with Sam?’_ s and _You gonna start braiding each other’s hair?’_ s succeeds comes sooner than later. If ever.

Cas doesn’t seem to notice the impact he and his hair have on Dean. Which is good, of course. Cas just does his thing, takes half a second to swipe the wayward locks off his face, then continues doing his thing. And he’ll never know he’s the reason Dean shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

Cas’s hand rises to his hair again.

He’s been doing it for the past eighteen minutes, keeping Dean stuck on the third page of the book he’s reading. It doesn’t matter how hard he tries not to look there: he registers the movement with the corner of his eye and the words in front of him lose meaning.

“Do you need a headband?” Dean snaps finally, slightly irritated.

He knows exactly what’s up with that: the wondrous bangs finally hit the point where they fall into the guy’s eyes just begging for a trim.

“What?” Cas looks up from his research to glance at Dean, confused. As a confirmation of Dean’s suspicion, brown locks fly down past his brows and straight into Cas’s pretty, blue eyes.

“You’re gonna hurt your hand if you keep doing that.”

It takes Cas a beat and another swipe to get what Dean’s talking about. His palm stops mid-movement.

“You mean my hair?” he asks and squints, looking up to examine the strand held between his fingers. “Yeah, I should probably get it cut,” he decides, leaving Dean completely stumped.

All those months of Dean’s torment and now he mentions it just like that?

“Wow, really? Why the change of heart, Rapunzel?”

Cas shrugs.

“It just never bothered me before,” he replies simply and goes back to reading.

Dean knows he’s gotta act, and he’s gotta act quickly.

“So, uh,” he begins, but then he’s not sure what exactly he wants to say, so he just ends up clearing his throat

Cas stares at him again, swipes his hair back, again.

“So what?”

He can’t let the topic die, not now when they’re so close, because if he does, this might just go on for another week or two. Dean’s eyes land on the ex-angel’s mane once more, he licks his lips that have suddenly gone dry.

“When?” he mutters. “I mean, when are you…?”

Cas’s eyebrow disappears under his fringe.

“Dean, it’s ten o’clock. Do you expect me to find an open barbershop now?”

“No, I- I mean- uh,” he starts stuttering again and he really wants to punch himself in the face for that. Get yourself together, Winchester. “I mean I could, uh, help,” he manages to utter, finally.

“Oh, okay.” Cas surprises Dean once more with his immediate response, as he puts the papers down and gets up.

“Okay.”

That’s how they end up in the bathroom with a chair standing in the middle.

Dean quickly regrets the command of “take off your shirt” thrown at Cas, because yeah, he wanted to save it from getting hairs all over, but then, he’d really like to keep his own pants clean, too. Apparently Cas also worries about his own favorite sweatpants, because he takes them off right after the shirt. For some reason, it takes Dean way too long to find the scissors in the first-aid kit. And when he does, Cas is already sitting, turned away from him. So if Dean ignores the line of his bare shoulders peeking over the chair, the situation seems relatively safe. For now.

The scissors are quite small, but they’re perfectly sharp, so they should do their job just fine.

“Have you done this before?” Cas asks as if it has just occurred to him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t ruin your pretty locks,” Dean assures him. “I’ve practice.”

Cas huffs out a chuckle.

“I was just curious.”

Dean speaks to the back of his head, playing with the scissors, slowly starting to regret his earlier eagerness to help.

“I’ve cut Sam’s hair quite a few times when he was younger,” he explains. “Now he won’t let me touch it, of course. Back then it was always a better option than the clippers in dad’s hand.”

Cas nods and goes quiet, Dean takes it for his cue to begin. When he runs his fingers through Cas’s hair, he finds out it’s as soft as he imagined it. He knows he’s prolonging the moment, but the man doesn’t seem to mind, as his head slightly leans to the touch.

“Alright, so, uh-” His low voice brings them both back to reality. “How do you want it?”

“Hm?”

“The hair,” Dean reminds him, in case it slipped his mind when he gave in to the pleasure. “How do you want me to cut it? Like before? Leave it longer?”

He gives him the choice, of course, and by now, he’s not even sure which answer he’s hoping for anymore because damn does his hair feel nice. Instead, the new thought appears in his head: whether he could find other opportunities to pet it more often.

Cas stays silent, weighing his possibilities.

“If I keep it longer, you’ll just go on teasing me about it, won’t you?” he asks finally. The question steals a chuckle from Dean.

“Of course I will,” he answers honestly, with a wide smile on his face. “And you can just tell me to shut it,” he adds.

This time it’s Cas who laughs.

“Alright then, leave it longer,” he decides. “Just keep it out of my eyes.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Dean grabs a comb, partially relieved and yet partially disappointed, because this wasn’t the goal, this is the exact opposite; no rest for the obsessed and a wee bit horny. He starts making passes through the dark locks, trying to figure out where to make the first cut. At last, he closes the scissors’ blades, hacking away just enough to grant Cas several weeks of not giving a shit again, yet spare those fucking curls on the back of his neck. Dean’s weak and he knows it.

For a while only the sound of snipping fills the bathroom.

“Dude, relax.”

Judging by the noise escaping his mouth, Cas isn’t even aware his muscles tensed with each snap, putting a strain on Dean’s composure, making his hands itch to put the blades down, slide down the angel’s neck, massage out the knots in his shoulders, free the tension from his back… Suddenly Dean’s thankful for the wooden chair between them, making it the only wood Cas can feel pressed against his spine.

He takes a deep breath; it looks like it’s him who should relax.

“Don’t you trust me?” he jokes.

“I trust you with my life,” Cas deadpans and Dean isn’t amused.

“Shut up.”

He moves to the left side. His eyes slide down the old, pale sigil scarring Castiel’s chest, to his palms folded on his dark-green boxers. His thumbs fidget, his back’s still rigid straight.

“Are you okay, Cas?”

Disturbingly often has Dean asked that question lately. Ever since Cas fell, he’s been good. Sure, he’s had worse days when forcing a smile out of him was a challenge that Dean took upon himself, he’s had moments when irritation at the simplest things turned into anger. But in all honesty, Dean expected worse. It hasn’t come yet and he plans to make sure it never will.

At this very moment, though, the question serves a double function, mainly to break the silence that’s become sensually overwhelming. It lets Dean shift his attention to the former angel’s words, instead of his body.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” There’s puzzlement in Cas’s voice.

“You haven’t relaxed.”

Cas circles his shoulders in response.

“Better?” He grins.

“Too late.” Dean shakes his head with a smile. “Plus, I don’t know, a new human thing? Changing your appearance and all that stuff. Doesn’t that, uh?” he trails off, gesturing vaguely.

“Oh, no this- this feels nice,” he admits and takes a moment to find the right words to explain. “It’s only the unpleasant stuff that is  problem. Sensations like stomach ache or exhaustion. So if you want to talk about hair, think more about washing it every day and drying and combing. Showers, shaving, sweating, shivering from cold, lying in bed when I can’t fall asleep, yawning,” he enumerates in one breath. “It’s all so demanding and annoying; restraining, really. And sometimes I wonder how you people do it and then I remember: oh wait, I’m a human too. Only I don’t have the advantage of having been accustomed to all this since childhood.”

There is not a note of grief in his voice during the speech and he’s completely calm when he ends it, like he just says what needs to be said, with a certain, unexpected sense of detachment.

“Oh,” Dean gasps out as he resumes trimming though he didn’t even realize he’d ever stopped. He forces himself to focus solely on the blades’ work and not on the bits of hair falling down on Cas’s shoulders, sliding along his arms before hitting the floor. Somehow, out of all things Cas said, what his mind lingers on is that this feels _nice_.

Dean’s done with the other side all too quickly and he stops for a second to inspect his own work. There’s only the main suspect of a fringe left to tame.

“Close your eyes,” he orders and Cas follows.

Dean feels himself hold his breath as he leans over Cas, their faces get dangerously close. His eyes flick down to the guy’s hands resting in the strategic spot and he wonders if it was intentional or purely coincidental. The thought can’t leave his head as he cuts the hair over the eyebrows, lets them flow down. Cas wrinkles his nose as some hairs catch on it and tickle.

Other hairs catch on Cas’s eyelashes and Dean just can’t ignore them. The warmth of ex-angel’s breath hits his face as he stoops even closer to blow the bits off. Cas smells of chewing gum and some hair lotion. Cheater. Cas has got the lightest spatter of freckles from sunny Kansas summer and even with his awesome eyes hidden behind his eyelids, his face is the fucking best thing; with those lashes and the cheekbones and those chapped lips surrounded by a thick, dark stubble. Those lips…

Dean reflects suddenly and shoots backwards so rapidly he almost stumbles. His pants feel freakishly tight, his eyes have grown wide with shock. Well, that was close – the whatever he thought he was planning to do. Cas doesn’t even move. Goddammit, Winchester. He won’t dare to touch that mane ever again, that’s for sure.

“Uh, done,” he mutters, once he’s certain he can trust his voice, and by then he’s already on the opposite side of the bathroom. “You like it?”

The change is visible but not radical. The back and sides are shorter, but, according to the instruction, not too short. The fluffy top he hardly touched at all and the properly trimmed bangs is swiped neatly to the side.

Cas brushes the tufts of hair off himself before stepping up to the mirror. Dean awaits his opinion as Cas runs his fingers through his mane. There’s this smile again, only more lopsided, more playful, as he glances at Dean.

“Yeah, I like it.”

While Cas’s gathering his clothes, Dean nervously rubs his hand over his mouth, peeping towards the shower desirably. He’s kinda pleased with himself, sorta terrified and more than a wee bit horny.

Yeah, he kinda likes it, too.

  



End file.
